This is going to be the most detailed account that I have ever written down or shared with anyone of the events that took place between me and the girl who lived across the street from me when I was ages 8-12. The only person I have shared some of these things with was the therapist I went to from December of 1993 to June of 1995. I have always meant to write at least some of these things down and share them with someone but, over all these years, I haven't until now. This is going to get long. If you have the patience, please bear with me.

I have decided to post my retelling of these events here in Survivors Of Female Abuse, as I feel it is the most appropriate forum for such a post. Because of the impact these particular events had on my life, I am linking this thread in the quote field of my profile, in hopes that some of my MS friends who do not visit this forum may find their way to this post at some point and perhaps read it when they have some extra time. Eventually, I will combine parts of this post with some of my others and string them together in one even longer post which I will leave in the Survivor Stories forum, but that is a bigger project for a different day.

And so here it begins.....

In June of 1983 my family moved from Hamden, Ct, just outside of New Haven, to Conyers, GA, just outside of Atlanta. Like any kid that age who moves to a different part of the country, I was anxious about my new home. Meeting new kids and going to a new school is always a little intimidating for a 8 year old but even more so for an 8 year old who tends to be a little on the shy and meek side. I already didn't always feel like I fit in with other kids, and in my new neighborhood I instantly felt even more awkward than usual. Everything here felt different. The surroundings were different, the neighborhood looked much different, people's accents were different and we were "Yankees". Believe it or not, in 1983, in the outer suburbs of Atlanta, being a "Yankee" was something you could still get a lot of shit for. It isn't anymore, but it was then, especially when you were a kid and the kids in your neighborhood would say things to your face that adults only whispered behind people's backs. That is always the way it works in the world of kiddom and here, in this new neighborhood, it was something my brother and I dealt with a good deal. So, take my fairly normal new kid in a new neighborhood anxiety, throw in some good, old-fashioned, north-south culture shock, and that was my new reality as an 8 year old kid in 1983.

The first person I met in my new neighborhood was a girl who've I've come to call T. (That's not to be confused with the common abbreviation used here for therapist. I use T because that was the first letter of her name and for some reason I don't feel right using her real name in my posts about her here. There was nothing therapeutic about my relationship with her.)

T was a heavy set girl almost exactly a year older than me. A year and a day to be exact. That's the part of all this that may make the impact she had on my life seem silly to some. How much of an issue could it really have been? She was only a year older than me and was a girl. What could have happened that could have been so bad? I hadn't just moved in across the street from some seedy pedophile. One that was going to woo me away from my parents and wind up doing terrible things to me in secret. Although she was much bigger than me, this was a little, 9 year old girl. Besides, I had already been molested by teenagers in my last neighborhood. Molested by two teenage girls on more than one occasion and assaulted by a teenage boy on another. I already had my secrets that I kept. What could happen between a 9 year old girl and and 8 year old boy that could wind up harming the younger of the two and what could have been so secret?

Well, as it turns out, lots of stuff. And there were going to be plenty of secrets. Plenty of them.

How It All Began

I don't exactly remember when the first sexual incident happened between T and I but I know it wasn't long after moving to the neighborhood. We were back in the woods behind T's house, where a lot of these things ultimately wound up taking place.

There was another girl involved too. We'll call her K, T's little sidekick. As far as sexual bullying goes, K was kind of T's little toady, much like the character Grover Dill was to the bully character Scott Farcus in the classic Christmas film, "A Christmas Story". K was actually a year younger than I was and was directly involved in T and I's age-inappropriate sex play quite a bit. Although I refer to her as T's "toady" I don't really blame her or put her at fault in any way. She just looked up to T and I believe felt like she was cool and older when T involved K in her little games. If it hadn't been for T pulling the strings, I don't believe anything sexual would have ever happened between K and I.

The first incident may have seemed like a normal instance of sex play if it hadn't been for the fact that it was more or less done to ridicule and humiliate me. It started with them wanting me to show them my privates. I didn't want to and I wasn't comfortable with it but I did. As I mentioned earlier, I was kind of a meek kid who wasn't good at telling others "no" or at standing up for myself. So, I just did what they wanted, even though it embarrassed me.

Before long, they were wanting to touch it and play with it, which I was even more uncomfortable with, but I let them anyway. Then they wound up poking at my privates with sticks and leaves. They were laughing at it and making fun of it. They were making fun of my body and it deeply hurt my feelings but I tried not to show them.

A few times during all this I tried to get them to reciprocate and show me their privates but they wouldn't. That pretty much set up a precedent that lasted for years to come. I was always the one that had to be naked. I was always the one that had to be poked and prodded. I was always the one who was toyed with, then often ridiculed. In the years that followed, I may have gotten to see T or K's privates once or twice and when I did, I was only allowed a second's worth of a glimpse. T was always in control of the situation. I was more or less always just her toy and her sexual/emotional punching bag. But I'm getting ahead of myself there.

I went home that night feeling a pit in my stomach. I vaguely remember going back to my room to cry a little bit and let some of the hurt out. I was angry and, for the moment, I hated those fucking girls. I didn't want to see them ever again and I dreaded having to face them the next day, which I knew I would. I actually even considered telling my mom this time but I was afraid to. I was to embarrassed. I didn't want her to know. She couldn't know. It was a terrible thought. That day wound up being the first and last time I would even consider telling her about any of these things. At least not until I was 19 and was in therapy many, many years later, but that is a different story for a different post.

For me, this wound up feeling just like the teenagers back in Connecticut. I felt completely exposed and humiliated, and I hadn't even stood up for myself. In a way, I can't help but wonder if the teenagers in Connecticut didn't set me up for this somehow. Like they primed me for it. Perhaps if the incidents back in Connecticut hadn't happened, I wouldn't have gone into "deer in headlights" mode when this first instance with T and K occurred. Maybe I would have anyway, but I wonder. Looking back it seems like the Connecticut incidents and these new incidents with T and K may have been the perfect storm. An effective and devastating one-two punch to my sexuality.

In the years that followed, I would continue to feel the blows.

As Time Wears On, Things Progress

The play between T, K and I wasn't always sexual. In fact, I don't believe it was even sexual the majority of the time but a lot of that had to do with our ability to be sexual. Obviously, if parents were around, nothing sexually inappropriate was taking place. When we had the opportunity to be alone though, things got sexual quite frequently. Getting alone together wasn't to much of a problem, as T was allowed to stay at home alone probably from the time I met her. Also, she had a teenage brother in the house who she would be left with, but he was no babysitter. In fact, he was a real asshole, but I'll get into that later on.

It wasn't long after the first incident with T and K that my over-all feelings about our sex play changed. Something had switched on inside my head. I had become a hyper-sexual child. I began seeking out T's sexual attention fairly constantly. I would even instigate it and look for opportunities to be alone with her, so that the sex play would have a chance to take place.

The dynamic of the sex play never changed though. She was always in control. She always called the shots. She was always the one who would determine whether or not our play was even to become sexual on any given day or at any given time. To be honest, there were actually times when she would deny me when I would seek out her sexual attention. I think this gave her as much of a power trip as anything. She had turned my sexuality on like a switch, she made me want her sexual attention, and she now had the power of denying me that attention when I would seek it out, if it fit her mood to do so.

Sometimes when she denied me, she would also shame me and berate me a little. Like I was the one who was a dirty little pervert for wanting what she normally just offered me. I was completely caught in her little web and I was hers to toy with both sexually and emotionally. Regardless of whether or not I had been the instigator and regardless of whether or not she had accepted or denied my sexual neediness when I was, I always went home under a vale of shame. I always walked away from her house or out of those woods feeling smaller than I had when I went over.

Even when other kids were involved in all this, T was always the ringleader. That is including instances in which kids a little older than T were involved, although that was rare. There were several other kids though.

There was K, who I already mentioned. She was involved in all this a lot more than any of the other kids were, but was not always involved. At times there was B, a boy a year younger than I who lived down the street from us. There was C, a girl who was a year older than T and who was only around when she was visiting her grandmother who lived in our neighborhood. (I also had a HUGE crush on C and was way more attracted to her than I was to T. In fact, of all the other girls who were ever involved, T was the one I was the least attracted to if I am to be quite honest.) My younger brother, W, who is a year and a half younger than I, was even involved from time to time. I kind of wish he hadn't been, but he was, although not very often. I'm still not 100% sure how he feels about those experiences today but I'm not sure I can bring myself to ask him.

So, there I was, a now hyper-sexual child with the perfect sexual bully living directly across the street from me. By the time I was nine or ten, it would be fair to say that I was completely obsessed with sex. Also, with pornography. T's father and her older brother had a vast collection of graphic pornography which they made little to no effort to hide from T. When we had the opportunity to be alone, she would often show it to me. There were magazines, movies, and even some pornographic 8-track tapes. Did anyone know that there was ever such a thing as pornographic 8-track tapes? Well, there was, and we listened to them on more than one occasion.

I normally got away with going to "play" with T when she was alone by lying to my mom and telling her that we were going to be watching some Disney move. Robin Hood was the most frequent cover story. I used to love that old Robin Hood cartoon and my mom knew it. You know, the one where Robin Hood is a fox and Little John is a bear? T had it on VHS and my family didn't have a VCR yet. There where times when we actually did watch that movie, as well as other movies that normal kids would watch. Thank God, I thought, that my mom didn't know about any of the other things we watched and did when I was over at T's house. At the time, nothing terrified me more than the thought of my mom finding out.

When The Sexual Bullying Was At It's Worst

Although the sex play between T and I didn't always involve what one would call "bullying", it frequently did, and there were a few instances I can think of that were particularly bad. Sometimes I think it was something she had planned out and at others it was probably spur of the moment cruelty.

For example, when I was 9 or 10 there was the time that we were in the woods behind T's house and T and K got me to take my pants off and close my eyes, promising they were going to pleasure me in some way. I didn't know if this was going to be an act that would involve their mouths or just their hands but I eagerly complied and got my pants off for them. I'm pretty certain I was already visibly excited down there at that point.

Then, from the side, I felt myself being shoved over with great force and I landed right in the patch of thorns I had been standing next to. It was T. She had gotten me excited, gotten me to take my pants off and close my eyes, then had shoved me right into a fucking briar patch. I struggled to get up, now crying, with my legs and any part of my body that was exposed all scratched up and pricked and scraped by the cruel thorns. The girls laughed at me as I shamefully put my pants back on and cried. Yes, I was crying from the physical pain of my scratched-up skin but more from my bruised ego and hurt feelings.

On another occasion when I was probably about 11, T and I were in the woods alone. She told me to take down my pants and lay on my back, again promising to pleasure me in some way. She also told me to close my eyes and cover my face. That was a common theme of our sexual activity. She always wanted me to cover my face. I never wanted to and it frustrated me to do so but I always complied. The implication being that I was ugly and she and the other girls didn't want to look at my ugly face when they did sexual things to me. That hurt me and made me feel small but I complied anyway because I wanted the sexual favors they were offering me.

This particular incident was no different. I took my pants off, laid down, and covered my face. On this occasion, she did start playing with me down there to get me excited. Then, she stopped for a moment. Why had she stopped? A couple of seconds later, she did it. She took her fist and pounded it into my testicles. My hands went from my face to my crotch and I balled up into a fetal position, unable to breath. I had never been punched in the testicles before. My body was wracked with pain and hot, wet tears began flowing down my cheeks.

From what I can remember, she didn't laugh at me this time. I'm not sure she even did it because she thought it would be funny. No, for some reason, she had just wanted to hurt me that day, so she did. I don't quite remember what she said afterwards either but it was something to the effect of, "Oh you're just being a baby. It couldn't be that bad." Perhaps she really just didn't understand how painful it was for a boy to be punched in the bare testicles that way but I'm not certain she would have cared if she did. Case in point, I fell for that little trick a second time a few months later when the other girls were around. That time, there was laughter.

This next incident was probably the most sexually traumatic thing that happened to me in my entire childhood. That is saying a lot, by the way. I have only ever told my former therapist about this. Now I am sharing it with whoever may read this. I hope this is not to sexually explicit for MS. Here goes....

I was 11 years old at this time. I was in T's room with T, K and C, the older girl who I mentioned earlier. As I also mentioned earlier in my story, I was very attracted to C and had a huge crush on her. She was two years older than me and very pretty.

The crazy thing about this incident was that we weren't alone in the house. T's parents, brother and some of her extended family were there having a get-together. The adults were all drunk and loud at the time though and paying no attention to what the kids might be doing down the hall in T's room. Just to be safe though, we locked the door.

I was laying on my back on T's bed and my pants were off. I don't remember how things had progressed to this point. The girls were taking turns holding a blanket down on my face while the others fooled around with me. I didn't know what they were doing but I could guess. Sometimes it felt like a hand playing with me. A couple others I thought one of them might be using their tongue. A couple of times I knew they were taking one of T's dolls and pressing it down on me to simulate me having sex with the doll. Then, something much different happened.

I suddenly felt a sensation on the tip of my penis that I had never felt before. It was warm, and wet, and the pleasure of it made me gasp and took the breath out of me. I was overwhelmed and for a brief second every muscle in my body tensed up. Not more than five seconds after the sensation began, something shot out of me. It felt like pee coming out but I wasn't sure it was. As soon as that happened, the sensation stopped and I could feel the bed pop up a little as someone had obviously just jumped off of it.

I struggled a little bit to get the blanket off my face but T and K were holding it down against me tight. I had to know what had just happened. I had to know what that sensation was. What had just come squirting out of the tip of my penis? Had it been pee? Had it been semen? At that point I had never had an orgasm before and I didn't know what one felt like. I knew that older guys had semen come out of their penis at the end of sex and I knew that was what made babies but it had never come out of me before. In all the times T, K and I had messed around sexually, they had never gone so far as to bring me to orgasm.

When T and K finally let me take the blanket off my face, the first thing I saw was C standing in the corner of the room with her face in the corner and her hands over her face. It looked like she was laughing but laughing out of embarrassment. As I put my pants back on I demanded to know what she had done to me but the other girls wouldn't tell me and C wouldn't even look at me. All they would tell me was that they wanted me to leave now, as if I had done something wrong. So, I left.

I went home feeling bewildered and frustrated. As usual, feeling smaller than I had when I went over there and filled with humiliation. Also, getting back home I had to face my parents, which was always difficult after there had been sexual activity between me and the girls. I was always afraid they were going to know somehow. Somehow, they would know something was up with me, but they never did. Still, the shame of seeing my parents at times like this was overwhelming and this time was way worse.

Later on that night, T called me on the phone and asked me to come back over. So, I headed back over to her house and met her in the woods as she had instructed me to. This time, C wasn't there. It was just T and K. They told me that C didn't want to see me and was angry at me. Then they told me that while I was lying on the bed with my face covered, C had stood on the bed over me, had squatted down, and had put the tip of my penis in her vagina. That's what the sensation had been, they claimed. Then, they said, I "spermed". That's what they called it, "spermed". You'd think with all the porn we'd seen we would have learned to use the word "cum" by now but I guess we hadn't. I had "spermed" inside her, they said.

That wasn't why C didn't want to see me though. No, that wasn't all. They told me that after I left, C had stolen one of T's moms pregnancy tests and used it. It was positive, they claimed, and she was pregnant. They told me I had gotten C pregnant.

I felt panic and fear wash over me like a tidal wave. I was only 11 years old! I couldn't have gotten a girl pregnant, right? I demanded to know the truth. I demanded that they admit they were lying, but they wouldn't. They stuck to their guns, and my state of panic deepened. I thought I was going to pass out. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate. How could this be happening to me? I had gotten a girl pregnant and I was only 11 years old! Now everyone would know. Now I would have to tell my mom what we had been doing. Now my parents would know what a filthy, shameful little pervert their son was. I suddenly felt like I was naked in front of the entire world. I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. I would have to run away. That was the only answer. No, I would have to kill myself. Or, I could run away then kill myself. That was it! That was the only solution!

After a few minutes of this I was sitting on the ground in a fetal position, sobbing into my hands and rocking back and forth like a mental patient. At that point, I told them that it was over. I was going to run away and kill myself. Only then did they let up. Only then did they relent and admit they were lying about the pregnancy test. They acted like I was stupid for believing them and maybe I was but I was a gullible kid and I scared easy, especially when it came to things like this.

After that, I went home and went to my room and cried. I was so angry and so hurt. I hated those fucking girls and I hated myself for wanting their sexual attention and for letting them get the better of me. I swore to myself that night that I was done with them. I never wanted to see any of them ever again. I would never play with T or with K again. Or, so I thought.

As you might have guessed, that promise I made to myself didn't last long. I don't think it lasted a day, to be quite honest. I went back for more of what they had to offer. Back for the sexual attention, back for the emotional games and back for the abuse, again and again and again.

More Head Games

To this day, I still do not know what C had really done to me on that bed. T's official version of the story changed several times. One time she told me that C had merely spit into her hand and used it on my penis. Another version of the story was that it was simulated sex with another baby doll. Another time or two she came back with the original version and told me the C had, in fact, inserted my penis about half way into her vagina while squatting down over me. If the original version was true, had that counted as me loosing my virginity? I'm still not sure of that either.

I also don't know what had really come shooting out of me that day. Had it been semen? I don't remember it feeling like an orgasm. It seems like it all happened to fast to have been an orgasm. Can a prepubescent boy have some kind of a pseudo-orgasm that includes some type of pre-seminal discharge? Or, could it have been a small amount of urine? Could it be that my young body and confused mind was so overwhelmed at that moment that I accidentally just let a little pee out? I don't know. I still don't know and never will.

Other than what possibly happened on the bed with C, nothing between those girls and I ever progressed past what one would call "third base". The really fucked up thing is, I wanted it to. Truth be told, I was obsessed with the idea of getting one of those girls to let me actually have sex with them but none of them ever would. Not even T. That's where a lot of the shame comes from, even today. I can't help but feel like I was fucked up in a way for pursuing more sex out of them than they were willing to give me. Like maybe I was the problem.

Still, I really don't think I would have had that obsession if T hadn't been the one to put it there. She had planted the seeds that grew into that obsession and she used it as another tool to torment me with. For years she would lure me over with the promise of letting me have full-on sex with her and it always just turned into one of her little games, and I fell for it, every single time. She knew how badly I wanted her and that gave her power, and she loved to use it to toy with me. In a way, it was like a sick, twisted, sexual version of Lucy convincing Charlie Brown to try and kick the football, only to rip it away at the last second then shame him for being stupid enough to try kicking it in the first place. That's exactly what T did, only with sex. Just like Charlie Brown and that football, I always fell for it.

(As an addendum to that last bit, I in no way feel like any of those girls were obligated to let me have sex with them. I just wish T hadn't put the idea in my head in the first place, then used it as a way to torment me)

If there was one thing T loved to do, it was play head games with me. Not all of which were sexual. I was a gullible kid, and it was easy for other kids to convince me of things that should have been obvious lies. Like the times that T convinced me that there were ghosts in her house. Or the times she claimed she was being pursued by demons, and that they were trying to possess her. Once they got her, they would get me as well, and there was nothing we could do to stop them. A couple of times, she got me so freaked out this way that I'd wind up balled up on the ground, crying, much like I did when they convinced me I had gotten C pregnant. She would always let up if and when it got to that point, but it got to that point more than once.

In the last year or so of T and I's sick little relationship, when I was 12-13, she had me convinced that she had a 16 year old boyfriend named Jason. Jason was big, and mean, and violent. He knew who I was and he was going to kick my ass the first chance he got. He was always around every corner, looking for me, stalking me.

There was even a time I was at her house when she and K told me that Jason had pulled into the driveway and got me to hide in T's parents bathroom. They left me in there for like an hour, cowering with fear the whole time. I thought about trying to escape through the window but it was about 10-12 feet off the ground and I was afraid the fall would hurt me, so I stayed put. Finally, they came and said it was safe to come out. Afterwards, they adamantly stuck to their story that Jason had been there and I believed them, mostly.

Looking back, I'm certain there was no Jason. There was no Jason, there were no ghosts in T's house and there were no demons trying to possess her. At the time, I fell for it though. Always did.

Was I Collateral Damage?

After reading all that, you probably think that I hate T. How could I not after all the pain she caused me? How could I not hold a grudge the size of Mt Everest? By all accounts, she must sound like she was the most evil, fucked-up, twisted little girl ever to walk the face of the earth, right? Well, at the time, it seemed that way but I think I know better now.

As an adult looking back, I am all but 100% certain T was being sexually abused by someone. I could be wrong but I just don't think there are many little girls out there who, starting at the age of 9, play sick, physically and emotionally sadistic sexual games with other kids for no good reason. Anyone who knows anything about CSA knows that one of the main symptoms to look for in a sexually abused child is acting-out sexually with other children in an age-inappropriate manner. It's fairly text book and I think T may have been a text book case.

Perhaps I shouldn't be speculating about who may have been abusing T, that is, if someone was, but there really are only two candidate as far as I could tell. Her father and her brother. They were the only two older males who had access to her on any kind of regular basis. Then, I also have to take into consideration the fact that both her father and brother had a huge collection of pornography that was more or less all over the house and that neither of them made almost any effort to hide any of it from her. She knew where it was, and she could show it to me on a whim. In fact, she even knew where pornographic pictures of her own father were, and she once showed them to me, almost proudly.

In her parent's walk-in closet, there was a box up on the top shelf and it was full of Polaroids. I don't remember if all of them were pornographic but I know some of them were. She showed me a few of them, again, almost proudly. It was like she wasn't even phased by looking at pornographic pictures of her parents. She almost seemed to think it was funny and kind of cool. If I remember correctly, most of them were of her dad but I think there was one or two of her mom as well. The one she made it a point to show me was one of her dad though. That image remains ingrained in my mind. It was T's dad lying on the bed and holding his erect penis in his hand. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I was shocked but T's attitude about it was more or less completely flippant.

Then there was T's teenage brother. I think he was about five or six years older than her. God, what an asshole he was. I was terrified of him, although he never did anything to me but call me names from time to time.

In all my years on this planet, I have never seen a person be as cruel and sadistic to a younger sibling as T's brother was to her. He blatantly abused her physically and emotionally while I watched. I can only imagine the things he might have been doing when no one was watching. He made her cry almost every time he was in the house, and I felt sorry for her. Also, this was a kid who was allowed to have his own stash of porn at least from the time when I met T, which would have made him probably 14 or 15.

Given all that evidence, combined with everything I know about CSA, I have become all but completely convinced T was being sexually abused. I don't know by who, but I am convinced it was going on. In some way, it feels like the person who abused her almost kind of indirectly abused me as well. It's as if I was collateral damage in a way. To coin a phrase of my own, it was like "trickle-down sexual abuse". Her abuser abused her, and she acted-out her abuse on me. She had been in a sexual situation with a male where she had no power and no control, so she looked for a sexual situation with a male where she could have all the power and all the control. Then, this smaller, meeker kid, a male, moves in across the street from her and he was hers. He was the perfect candidate to take her own sexual abuse out on. He was the perfect sexual, physical and emotional punching bag, and she used him for that purpose, for five long years.

I Still Don't Know Whether To Call It Abuse But....

T and I's sexual games had more or less ended by the time I was 14. We had moved out of the house across the street from her when I was still 12 and lived for a year in a rental house about mile away. My father was having our new home on the other side of town built for us during this time period but T and I kept things up until we moved out to the new house. After that, we gradually stopped speaking and eventually lost touch all together.

About 15 years ago, T randomly called me on the phone. We spoke for a while, and the conversation was a pleasant one, but that was the last time we talked.

Now, I wouldn't know how to get a hold of her if I wanted to. I've done Google and Facebook searches, all to no avail. I'm not really sure why I even did any of that, because if I had found her, I wouldn't have contacted her. For some reason, I just wanted to see if she was out there and see what she was up to. I wasn't able to find her though, so I suppose it's a moot point.

Looking back at everything that happened, I still don't know if I can legitimately call what happened between T and I abuse. It was sexual bullying, for sure, but I allowed so much of it to happen. Not only that, I literally asked for it, verbatim, time and time and time again. Perhaps in some way, I did deserve a lot of what happened. Perhaps some of it was my fault. Perhaps I should be ashamed. Perhaps I was a filthy little pervert.

Regardless of whether or not I have myself to blame for any of this, regardless of whether or not I was at fault, I can't help but feeling weak for having been damaged so badly by it. I really do think that the things that happened between T and I over the years damaged me worse than any of what happened with the teenagers back in Connecticut. How can that be though? Those teenagers clearly molested me. And, although two out of three of them were girls, they were old enough that I can't imagine anyone with half a brain arguing that what happened with them wasn't sexual abuse.

T was only one fucking year older than I was and was a girl, and I let her damage me this badly? In a way, nothing could be more emasculating. How could I be so weak? How could I be so vulnerable? How could I be such a pussy? How could I be such a pathetic little sexual freak? Would any other boy on the planet have let this happen to them and also have been damaged by it, or am I just that frail and fragile?

In the end, I know that by saying a lot of that I am essentially embracing the very double standard that I hate and I am capitulating to it. That being the double standard that female abusers are somehow less powerful and less harmful than male abusers. I know for certain that if a female person were to tell a tale of having been sexually tormented by a male child who was a year older and a lot bigger than her for years, no one would be questioning whether or not it constituted abuse. Especially if that older male child had involved other male children in the sex play and they kind of ganged up on her. Even if actual intercourse had only taken place in one instance, and only for a moment, as it may have in mine, no one would question for a second whether or not she had been abused. Perhaps that's the perspective I need to keep all this in.

So, that is more or less it. That's a good chunk of my story. It's far from the whole thing, but I will probably never tell the whole thing as that would require me to reveal details about myself which some may find to disturbing. None of that "disturbing" stuff has to do with anything that actually happened to me as a boy though but more with how these traumas have manifested themselves in my adulthood. We'll see though. It's a long life and I have plenty of time to write the rest of my story, if I so choose. Although I seriously doubt anyone has read this far, I thank anyone who has. Even if no one reads a word of it, I'm glad I wrote it all out. In a way, it helps and I think it has been a healing thing. Take care all. Peace,

Yes. It was both abusive and bullying. They were older and they were controlling.

It must have been therapeutic even though draining to write it all out. It will probably cause you to re-think a lot of it from an adult perspective. That, as you go through it with a T, will help you become free of all of it. It doesn't have to control you anymore.

Man....I don't know what to say. Yes - that was some seriously messed up shit. You have every right to feel 'damaged' by what happened to you. It was painful to read.

I think you hit the nail onthe head here....

Originally Posted By: Ken

I know for certain that if a female person were to tell a tale of having been sexually tormented by a male child who was a year older and a lot bigger than her for years, no one would be questioning whether or not it constituted abuse. Especially if that older male child had involved other male children in the sex play and they kind of ganged up on her. Even if actual intercourse had only taken place in one instance, and only for a moment, as it may have in mine, no one would question for a second whether or not she had been abused. Perhaps that's the perspective I need to keep all this in.

IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT!!!!

I was abused by a boy 2 years older than me when I was 10-12. For me it comes down to the pschological 'mind games' and the power they had over us that make it abuse rather than 'experimentation'. The sex acts themselves do not make it abuse .... but the way you were manipulated does.

Thanks for sharing this part of your story in such detail.

Damn it was looooong. but I am honoured you shared it with us and feel I understand you better.

Hi guys. I just wanted to say thank you for the replies so far. I will post a better and more thoughtful response tomorrow but I have to get to bed. I just wanted to go ahead and thank anyone who read the whole damn thing because I know it was long. Over 14 pages with size 11 font. I almost feel bad having posted something so long, because I don't want anyone to feel like they are obligated to read the whole thing just because they know me on here. Oh, I also changed the title because after posting it and thinking about it, I decided the first title I gave it was a little stupid.

I am so glad I have posted this and shared it with the world. A huge weight is off my chest now. Will respond more tomorrow. Peace,

Ken - i read it all.i commend you for telling all. it can't have been easy. i avoided reading it at first - because i was sure it would be triggering. it was. but i am glad i read it. maybe sometime i can respond in more detail - but not now.thanks for writing and sharing it.lee

_________________________
"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself... And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity." - Paulo Coelho

Puffer, Farmer Lee and Traveler Lee. Thank you guys so much for having the patience to read my epicly long post. Like I said in my last post, I felt kind of selfish leaving such a long post because I feel like by doing that I'm asking people to take time out of their busy days to read it and I don't want them to feel obligated to. However, I have been meaning to air some of these things out to the world for a long time. I needed this post. I needed it for my own mental health and for my own recovery, or for what ever recovery is possible for me. It may sound a bit cliche to say that it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest to finally tell this part of my story in detail, but that really is exactly what it feels like. Even if not one person had read it, it still would have been therapeutic to write.

Now, if I ever do go back into therapy, I feel like having written my story down gives me a good starting point to go on. A template, if you will. That way, I won't have to start from scratch as I would if I went in not even knowing where to begin. That's how I went into it when I was in therapy from 12/93 to 6/95. (It may have actually been 7/95. Don't exactly remember the month but it was summer of 1995 when I quite therapy for the last time.)

Although it was therapeutic to write, yes, it was emotionally draining. However, after I posted it the other night, then proof-read it, I felt like a million bucks. I felt like celebrating. I even found myself wishing that I had bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate the occasion but I hadn't the forethought to do that, so beer and Jagermeister had to suffice. LOL!

The ways in which my experiences with T damaged me, compounded by the experiences with the teenagers in CT, have had an impact on my life that it would be an understatement to call profound. Some of those ways I have shared here on MS and some I have not. Some of those things I have overcome already, some could perhaps still be overcome with the help of a T and some of them could never be overcome in a million life times. Even though some of the damage is irreparable, I am going to try to be positive here and say that perhaps I can rise above the damage which I can not repair. There are things about me that will affect me and torment me until the day I die but I do not have to give into them and I do not have to let them destroy me any more than I already have. I have survived a lot in my life and I know that now.

I don't talk about it on here much, but the one and only confirmed, corroborated instance of sexual abuse in my childhood was by a 9 year old girl who molested me when I was 3/4. I know of it purely from my mother's memory of it, as she was the one who walked in on it, and stopped it. The girl's parents were both there having dinner with mine, and after my mom took my older brother and I into her own bedroom to ask us what happened, she went and told the girl's mom about it.

The mom said "Oh yeah, she's been molested [by WHO exactly?!?!] and she must have been acting out". My mom was pissed off that this girl's mother didn't bother to tell her this, and simply let her 9 year old daughter (known by her to have a penchant for repeating her CSA on other kids) play with my brother and I alone in our room.

In a rather bizarre turn of events, that same girl's father was found dead a few days later. One day he was eating dinner with us. A few days later he was found melted into his couch, dead, with no air conditioning on in the Phoenix heat (pretty awful scene, I'm sure). I like to think he was her abuser and this was divine justice. But I've never been clear about it. Stranger still, the mother and daughter left the state a few months later (the mother had been my dad's co-worker. That's how we knew them.) Murder, perhaps? I guess we'll never know. Guess what board game they brought over to play with my parents? An adult board game called "Dirty Minds". Hahahahahahaha... FML

I wish I could say I identify with you, but I have no memory for this incident, or any incidents of CSA. But I just wanted to say it was brave of you to write this, you were a victim (not a pervert), seeking out the abuser after a while is normal behavior in a victim, doesn't indicate complicity, and this girl sounds like a dead-ringer for a victim herself. She knew exactly where sexual polaroids of her father were? Hmmmmmm... something tells me there were more polaroids somewhere else in that house. Is it normal for married couples to keep sexual polaroids of each other in a closet? The dad was obviously into making his own home-made pornography. Leaving pornography lying around openly is a typical grooming tactic incestuous parents use on their children. This girl was not merely experimenting with you, she was sadistically lashing out at a younger person of the same gender as her own abuser. Perhaps she came to terms with it later on in adulthood, and that was her intent in calling you all those years later, but she just didn't know how to begin to apologize for what she'd done to you.

Thank you for sharing your story! It's as close to my own as I've read so far. My abuser was an older stepsister. I can relate almost too well with everything you have experienced. I hope in the coming weeks to be able to share my whole story as you have done.

Take care and THANK YOU again for sharing! It's a good feeling to not be alone.

This girl was not merely experimenting with you, she was sadistically lashing out at a younger person of the same gender as her own abuser.

Yeah, this is what I have to believe. I just can't fathom the possibility that a little girl could be sexually sadistic towards younger kids without having been abused herself. It's like I just said to you in your thread about your issues with your dad and the fantasies you had as a child. Little kids don't just get ideas like these ones in their head out of nowhere.

Originally Posted By: Life's A Dream

Perhaps she came to terms with it later on in adulthood, and that was her intent in calling you all those years later, but she just didn't know how to begin to apologize for what she'd done to you.

I've wondered that. I've even kind of fantasied that she would call me again someday and tell me who abused her and also tell me she was sorry for the things that happened between us when we were kids. If she did, I would offer her my forgiveness and it would help to lift a weight off my soul a little. It wouldn't undo any of the damage but it would help to hear her say those things. Especially the part about her admitting that she had been abused herself. I don't know why but getting 100% confirmation on the fact that someone was indeed abusing her is something I want to know so badly, but I probably never will. Not that I want her or anyone else to have been abused, but I want the whole thing to make sense and to know for certain that she was abused would help a lot in that regard. Thanks. Peace,

Thank you for sharing your story! It's as close to my own as I've read so far. My abuser was an older stepsister. I can relate almost too well with everything you have experienced. I hope in the coming weeks to be able to share my whole story as you have done.

Take care and THANK YOU again for sharing! It's a good feeling to not be alone.

Dave

Hi Dave. Good to hear from you. I look forward to reading your story whenever you get around to posting it. No pressure. Take your time and everything. When you are ready to tell it though, if you're anything like me, the disclosure of all the painful details will feel amazing once you've muddled through the pain of writing it all out. Take care. Peace,

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